


Wake Up Call

by moyzi



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sappy stuff, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moyzi/pseuds/moyzi
Summary: Shizuo could probably make a list of complaints when it came to living with Izaya, but nothing topped sharing a bed with the bastard.





	

If there was one thing Shizuo hated, it was sharing a bed with Izaya. Too often he’d wake up—groggy and uncomfortable and eyelids practically glued shut—to bony toes jabbing at his calf, and on the worst of days, his ankle. Shizuo would snap, his voice rough and raspy: “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Izaya would say, the grin audible in his words: “I wouldn’t have to resort to violence if you’d just get up the first time I asked.” For the record, Shizuo never had any memory of Izaya trying to wake him up _before_ the kicks started. In Izaya’s defense, Shizuo was a heavy sleeper. 

And then Izaya would crawl from under the sheets, swing his legs so he sat at the edge of the bed, and if Shizuo had begun to drift back to sleep, he’d threaten to fetch a bucket of water. Shizuo would get up at that point, every time.

Shizuo hated sharing a bed with Izaya until, one rare morning, he managed to wake up first. The action sent a sort of power pulsing through him—no nagging piercing his eardrum, the freedom to do whatever he pleased. 

It was a _thrill._

He jumped from bed, practically skipping through the apartment which he had always thought to be much too large (What was the point of all this space?), indulging in some early-morning television—though, he could only stand it for measly minutes before he felt like throwing a fist through the screen—and running his fingers over the spines of Izaya’s book collection. After thirty-two minutes—a very savored thirty-two minutes—he accepted defeat. He was bored.

He crept back into the bedroom, the rich, orange sunlight seeping in through the slits of the blinds. The mountain of covers inflated, reaching the peak of their growth only to deflate seconds later. It was calming to Shizuo, to know Izaya was breathing so rhythmically. Realizing the compassion in his thoughts, his face warmed; if Izaya were awake to see him, he would never hear the end of it.

Izaya was like that—he’d never admit to any feelings. Though his touch was so warm, his demeanor was rather frigid. His fingertips held the power to bring all to life, and on his lips lingered the competence to shatter it.

Shizuo pursed his lips, as if something sour rested on his tongue. His endearing reflection left him feeling odd. It was still new to him to feel this way.

He retired to the kitchen. Even if Izaya was captivating, he was still an insensitive pest. Shizuo snatched an empty glass from the cabinet, tapping his foot impatiently as it filled with water. When it was brimming, he flipped off the sink and trod back to the bedroom. The walk was a balancing act, trying to keep the water from rocking out.

And then he stood, glass of water in hand, hovering over a sleeping Izaya. Shizuo watched Izaya’s nose twitch and his eyelashes flutter, his face bury deeper into the pillow. He tilted the glass, the water inching toward the edge, closer and closer, ready to obtain the sweet, sweet revenge he yearned for. With his blood pumping, he readied himself to see the aftermath: the dampened, black hairs and drenched face, mouth gaping in shock. He was really starting to enjoy himself.

Until Izaya’s eyelids flickered.

Shizuo froze in place, as if that would make him undetectable. Twisting his wrist so the water returned to the bottom of the glass, Shizuo studied the face further. Izaya remained silent. Shizuo wasn’t even sure Izaya _had_ opened his eyes; they now looked shut. _Did I imagine that?_

Whatever happened, Shizuo groaned and stomped to the kitchen to dump the water down the sink. When Izaya woke up later, Shizuo was sure he’d get an earful, but was pleasantly surprised when Izaya hadn’t mentioned anything about the incident. _The calm before the storm_ , Shizuo thought.

Shizuo went to bed that night with one eye open. If he let his guard down, Izaya would strike—he was sure of it. By that time, he wasn’t sure what was worse; Izaya reacting, or the anticipation of waiting until he does. After struggling to fight off the lassitude which numbed his muscles, Shizuo finally fell asleep. He may have even _dreamed_ of the situation, it restless in his subconscious.

The next morning, Shizuo was not woken by kicks. Or cold water. Instead, he’d felt a soft kiss against his cheek, Izaya stretching over him to trail his lips down to the corner of Shizuo’s mouth. Izaya’s chest pressed against Shizuo’s arm, the brunet’s hand sunken into the mattress, supporting him. “Wake up, Shizu-chan.” 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Izaya chuckled, removing himself and retreating to his side of the bed. Shizuo felt colder. “Why do I even try? Whatever way I decide to wake you up, you’re never happy.”

Shizuo rolled over, his eyes narrowed. He hoped his face wasn’t too red. “You’ve never woken me up like _that_ before.”

“Why”—the corners of Izaya’s mouth rose—“do you not like that method? I could kick you.”

“N-no, uh,” Shizuo babbled, “I mean, yeah. It’s just, uh … different.” He scratched the back of his head, his fingers becoming caught in the tangles of his hair. 

“Nervous? How cute,” Izaya teased, flipping the covers off of him and swinging his legs out to sit on the bed’s edge. He bent down, Shizuo seeing the knots of his spine poking through the shirt, sliding into slippers before he was on his feet. He pivoted to face Shizuo, arms akimbo, and Shizuo wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a smile quite like that so early in the morning.

“Well, unlike you,” Izaya began, “I can’t stay in bed all day.”

“What are you going on about? I work.”

Izaya strayed to the dresser, pulled the t-shirt over his head and was shortly after slipping into another. Through the fabric, Shizuo could just make out the muffled, “You have today off.”

Shizuo sat up, knees bent toward his chest and arms resting utop. “So what?” A smirk tugged at his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not,” Izaya replied, an airiness in his tone. He was in the doorway now, facing Shizuo, arms folded over his chest. “As an informant, I’m _always_ on the clock. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially because you get days off, and I wouldn’t want stay home all day with _you._ ”

Shizuo slid from the covers, was on his feet and approaching Izaya, who was rooted to the floor, holding his place. The blond was smiling tensely, was wise enough to know Izaya wasn’t serious with his insults, but still boyish enough to be offended. They stood face to face, and Izaya had the audacity to tilt his chin up—the male could certainly be within an inch of his life and _still_ be provoking. At that display, Shizuo’s smile dropped into a glower.

“That look you’re giving me is oh-so scary.” Izaya spoke. When met with no reply, the smug smile had wavered, eyebrows quirking. “Is Shizu-chan not speaking to me now? If that’s the case, then I should probably split. Although, I guess this means I can’t use _that_ method of waking you up again. Who knew you’d be even more hostile? Really, Shizu-chan, you always surprise—”

Shizuo cut the lecture short with a kiss, deep and hopefully enough to send Izaya into a daze; as much as Shizuo appreciated Izaya’s quick-wit, it was quick to grow stale. The informant had grunted and lurched at the sudden act, but soon fell slack. Shizuo’s hand slipped underneath the shirt, resting at the small of Izaya’s back. When the kiss finally ended, the shared breath between them was warm.

There was no time to speak between then and their next kiss, because the moment Izaya’s lips had parted, Shizuo seized the opportunity. Izaya clearly didn’t mind the affections; one leg was lifted to Shizuo’s hip, and then the two moved in unison, finding a wall to help. That search had returned them into the bedroom. Hands were rested underneath Izaya’s thighs, and both legs found themselves wrapped around Shizuo’s waist. 

The kiss broke, and Izaya’s grin gradually broadened. “I’m going to be late if you keep this up.”

Shizuo was nipping at Izaya’s neck, the smallest moans from Izaya felt in vibrations, inching up his throat. Shizuo groaned, and said with a gravelly voice, “ _Be late._ ”

But, Izaya tapped at Shizuo’s arm, a signal of release. The feeling in Shizuo’s gut sunk deeper at the thought that their session had been cut short. Shizuo, however, backed away, allowed Izaya to return both feet to the floor. Slipping from the space between Shizuo and the wall, Izaya walked with reluctance, as if doing so in thought. Shizuo turned to watch, leaned back against the wall.

Izaya gravitated toward the bed, dragged his fingers across the sheets. There was some feeling suspended in the air, but Shizuo was not anxious over that; he was only fixated on Izaya’s movements, the way the brunet lingered, and the visage, cool and calculating. 

And slowly, Izaya lowered back onto the bed. He stretched out his arms, and sunk into the sheets. In a manner that drove Shizuo mad, Izaya bent his knees, drew the heels to his thighs, and spread legs apart just slightly. Through the gap, Shizuo could see Izaya peering at him with his chin raised, lips in a roguish smile. “I suppose I could be late today.”

\--

When Izaya left, Shizuo was instantly bored. He ambled around the apartment, tested a nap on the couch and, when that didn’t work, wound up scouring through the kitchen cabinets for a snack.

He settled for a small chocolate bar, one that had been stashed away for a reason beyond Shizuo—probably Izaya’s doing, but Shizuo let it slide. He stood, had just pulled back the wrapper and was preparing to take a bit when he something caught his eye. He stepped over to the sink, peered down at its contents.

There was still the glass he had almost used that one morning, pathetic on its side. And, right next to it, there had been another glass, full to the top with water.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


End file.
